


The Price of Freedom

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Assassin's Creed, Dragon Age
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up in a jail cell in Thedas, with no idea of where he is or how he came to be there, Ezio finds that the Apple is in the possession of the Templars. Wounded and left for dead on the Coast, Ezio is healed and cared for by Anders, who finds himself feeling more than friendly concern for his patient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wounded Coast

The Price of Freedom  
Ezio woke up in a prison cell with his wrist shackled to the bed-post. He was quite sure he had never seen the inside of this particular prison cell before, but over the years his perception had changed. So many places and faces had blurred together in his mind. He was no longer sure if he recognized much of anything beyond his home and the people closest to him. 

As he did whenever he woke up in an unknown place, Ezio took stock of his surroundings. It was a small cell, with a bucket in the corner that Ezio didn’t want to know the purpose of. There were sconces outside of his cell, lanterns flickering faintly on the walls, casting long shadows down the corridor. Somewhere, water was leaking, a steady _drip, drip, drip_ that let Ezio easily count each second that passed. And, most interesting of all, there was a soldier outside of his cell, staring in at him.

He had never seen such an odd warrior in his life, however. For one, they wore heavy armor as opposed to lightweight and durable leather, and for another, they were in a skirt. Of all the things Ezio had expected to see – and he hadn’t precisely expected to see anything considering he hardly knew where he was or how he’d gotten there – a soldier wearing a skirt had not been one of them.

“ _Buongiorno_ ,” Ezio said. His voice was hoarse, throat too dry. He tried to swallow spit and found he had none. He coughed and pulled feebly at the cuff around his wrist. The soldier watching him was a woman – young, barely into her twenties – with dark eyes and skin and hair shorn close to her scalp. Pretty, but not the kind of pretty Ezio was used to. There was no softness to her; she was hard edges and broad-jawed with a jagged scar from her upper lip to her cheekbone. Even still, Ezio’s instincts kicked in. It didn’t matter how badly he was bruised, how dry his throat was, how he had no clue where he was or why he had been imprisoned; a pretty woman deserved a flashy smile. 

“It seems awfully cruel to chain an injured man to the bed,” Ezio said, “Unless you have something else in mind aside from torture?” He cocked an eyebrow, and chuckled when the woman stared at him blankly, a twist disturbing her mouth. “Ah, no then,” Ezio murmured, “You can’t blame a man for trying, si?”

“We found something quite strange on you,” the woman said. Her voice matched her face perfectly. Her hand came around from behind her back, and cupped in her palm was the Apple. It looked… different. Every other time Ezio had seen the Apple, it had had a certain… aura around it, as though it were as alive as the one who cradled it in their hand. It held a strange kind of power, beat with its own pulse, seemed to swell and relax with its own breath. Now, though, the Apple looked… normal, or as normal as it could. Still, Ezio felt a spike of alarm spread through him, sharp in his stomach and through his chest. 

He pulled at his restraints, gritting his teeth as his shoulder jerked roughly, strained against its socket. “ _Puttana_ ,” Ezio spat, “You don’t know what you are dealing with. Give that to me now.”

“So we were correct,” the woman said, “It _does_ possess some kind of magic. Yet you are no mage. Where did you get this?”

The woman was making no sense, speaking words Ezio had never heard before. Magic, yes, he had heard of such a thing, and Ezio had assumed it fell in the same category as miracles; meaning in the category of things that simply weren’t true. A _mage_ , though – Ezio had no clue what the woman was talking about. She was obviously mad, and the last place the Apple belonged was in her hand. Still, there was little he could do short of hissing swears at her and pulling uselessly at the chain around his wrist.

“Do not test my patience,” the woman snapped, “It is the duty of the Templars to confiscate all magical items for the good of Thedas and fools like you who could never understand magic’s true impact. Do you think me a fool?”

 _There_ was a word Ezio recognized. So the woman was a templar. Of course she was, why else would Ezio be bound and imprisoned? Yet it made no sense that she had kept him alive, that she had not simply slit his throat while he had been unconscious. Unless the templars meant to interrogate him. But no, there was no reason for that; they had always been two steps ahead of him, always knowledgeable of things Ezio knew little to nothing about until it was nearly too late.

“ _Templare cazzo,_ ” Ezio growled, “You think these chains can stop me forever?”

“We’ve no intention of stopping you,” the woman said. “You are of little interest to us, and if you believe yourself capable of storming the Gallows and the Keep to get at us, by all means try.” She smiled, crookedly, and slipped the Apple into a pouch at her hip. “It will be quite a treat watching you die.”

Two others stood behind her, and at her nod, they unlocked his cell and stood over him. Ezio spat at them, which obviously didn’t endear him towards them at all, and struggled against his chains. One of the templars pressed his boot against Ezio’s throat, while the other drew her sword. Ezio saw a flash of the blade before everything went black.

****

Anders had complained when Hawke had asked him to scout the Wounded Coast with Isabela, but he had settled some when Isabela had flashed one of her patented grins and linked her arm through his. “Aye aye, Captain,” Isabela had said, “We can do that, no problem, can’t we sweetheart?”

“Oh, sure,” Anders had muttered. 

Well, at least he hadn’t been sent with Fenris…

Isabela led the way, marching boldly along the Coast as though bandits and raiders didn’t lurk in the shadows waiting for a throat to cut and a purse to snatch. Anders was hardly surprised; the number of times the woman had come to him with knife-wounds was innumerable, and now he could see why. She had no fear of death, no fear of the unknown. She walked with purpose, yet she still managed to seem aimless, drifting from one side of the trail to the other, leaning down to pluck flowers, or just to stare at a particularly hideous cluster of elfroot. 

“Merrill will like these,” Isabela said.

“Merrill has no use for elfroot,” Anders sighed.

“Not the elfroot,” Isabela corrected, “The _flowers_. Don’t be a ninny.” Without even looking at him, Isabela added, “And don’t frown so much. You’re too pretty for that.”

How she had known he was frowning, Anders hadn’t a clue.

They continued on, Isabela tucking the flowers through her hair as they walked. There was noise as they rounded a corner – difficult to place – and Isabela drew her blades as Anders unslung his staff and readied himself. She could transform herself so quickly, so effortlessly, that Anders was a little in awe of her. One moment she was traipsing the coast twining flowers in her hair, and the next she was low to the ground, muscles along her thighs bunched, blades held at the ready, eyes narrowed. 

Anders didn’t envy Fenris at all for having such a ferocious woman to contend with – in the bedroom or otherwise. 

A man stumbled out from a thicket of brambles, his clothes torn and bloodied. Anders wasn’t sure if he was in need of healing or merely a raider who deserved nothing less than a quick death. Isabela, however, sheathed her blades and jogged to the man, making it to him just in time for him to collapse into her arms. 

“Oof,” Isabela sputtered, “Come on, big boy, hey, on your feet now.”

“Isabela, you cannot go up to every man who comes along,” Anders fussed, “He could be playing possum, trying to get your guard down.”

“He’s _bleeding_ ,” Isabela snapped, “Bring those sparkly fingers over here.”

Anders sighed and marched over, grabbing the man from Isabela and easing him down to the sand. He looked to be much older, nearing his mid-forties, with gray heavy at his temples and lines etched deeply at the corners of his mouth and eyes. He was handsome, and even in his state of confusion and alarm, Anders took a moment to admire his beauty. 

Isabela noticed as well, giving an admiring whistle. “Oh my,” she purred, “That is the burliest damsel in distress I’ve ever seen. Do you think he might need a kiss to wake him?”

“Quiet,” Anders snapped.

He opened the man’s armor, finding three puncture wounds, deep and nasty, at his side, stomach, and chest. He’d been brutalized, beaten and stabbed and left for dead on the Coast. Someone had likely made off with his coin, judging by how light his purse was when Anders plucked it from his hip and set it aside. The man reached for him, grabbing Anders by the front of his robes. He was amazingly strong for someone who had lost so much blood, and amazingly _aware_. His eyes were dark, hot, blazing, his breath rough on Anders’ mouth as he dragged him nearer. 

“ _Non mi toccare_ ,” the man rasped. His eyes fluttered and he slumped backwards against the sand, his hand falling from Anders’ robes.

“Well,” Isabela said, “Isn’t he just a spitfire?”

****

He had nothing to identify him, though Anders found some of his possessions rather curious. At least a half dozen different blades of varying size and length, the same number of small vials – some poison, others some strange concoction of medicine Anders had never encountered – and quite a few throwing knives. A crossbow, hefty and awkwardly shaped, not nearly as sleek and light as Bianca, and a short sword that had been finely sharpened and lovingly kept. The man had a special affection for his weapons, that much was evident. Anders had to wonder how he had been ambushed when he was so obviously well-armed. No man would carry such weapons with him unless he was proficient with them.

It took the man nearly three days to regain consciousness. Anders kept him in the back of his clinic, away from his other patients. He didn’t want to risk another incident like what had happened on the Coast when the man had grabbed him. He was obviously strong, and belligerent, and those two traits very rarely went well together. 

When he finally came to, he was confused, babbling nonsense in a language Anders had never heard. His accent sounded very Antivan, and what Anders knew of Antiva he could fit on the head of a pin. For a moment, Anders wished Zevran was there, the elf that the Warden-Commander had been knocking boots with; but then again, there was the high probability that had Zevran been there, he and his fellow Antivan would be making quite a bit of noise and not much more sense.

He looked at Anders, eyes narrowed. Not angrily, but _curiously_ , as though he meant to place Anders, or remember him, or figure out if he _should_ remember him at all.

“ _Francese_?” The man asked.

“What?”

“French?” The man asked, though Anders still didn’t understand him. 

“No?” Anders asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man. When he tried to stand, Anders eased him back down to the cot, feeling his heart beating erratically under his palm. “Easy,” Anders said, “You’ve lost quite a lot of blood, and you’re in no condition to move around. It will take at least a week---“

“Do not touch me,” the man said. His voice was gruff, but not exactly aggressive. Irritated, more than anything. Anders sighed and pulled his hand away. It wasn’t uncommon that someone would refuse the touch of a mage, even when that mage had saved their life. It was a fear as deeply ingrained as the prejudice that fueled its fire. Mages were despised, hated, tortured and imprisoned – unless they were needed, then their value was seen as more important than their danger.

“I healed your wounds,” Anders said, “You might try thanking me.”

The man looked at him, expression impossible to read on his thickly bearded face and his implacable stare. “ _Grazie_ ,” he murmured, looking away from Anders and staring up at the ceiling. There was a sheen of sweat on his chest, inching down over his ribs and stomach. Anders took a clean rag – or the cleanest he could find at least – and dabbed at the sweat. Strangely, the man didn’t remonstrate him for ignoring his orders not to touch him, he just laid there staring at the ceiling, breathing slowly and steadily.

“Ezio,” the man said.

“Pardon?” Anders asked.

“My name,” the man said, tone still irritated, but a mite bit warmer than it had been. He pulled himself up, swatting Anders away when he tried to lay him back. “I only need to sit up for a bit,” he said, “Do not fuss over me, _biondo_.” 

Ezio rested his elbow over his knees, closing his eyes and breathing in deep through his nose. Anders could have told him that was a mistake, but given the man’s attitude and proclivity of aggression, he enjoyed watching him cough and sputter. 

“Yes, well, forgive me for not having the time to keep things all that clean,” Anders said, “I’m far too busy collecting sorry pieces of flesh like you from the Coast and keeping them alive.”

“Auditore,” Ezio said.

“Pardon?” Anders asked.

“My name,” Ezio said.

Anders felt like they’d been through this already.

“Ezio Auditore da Firenze,” Ezio said, extending his hand. Anders looked between his eyes – not angry or curious now, but genuinely warm – and his hand for a moment before shaking Ezio’s hand firmly.

“Anders,” he said. He cocked his head a bit. “Da Firenze? I’ve never heard of such a strange name. You hail from Antiva, don’t you?”

“I know of no such place,” Ezio said, “I am from Italia.”

Anders had never heard of the land, but there were plenty of lands he had never heard of he was sure. Judging by his accent and the duskiness of his skin, he was most likely from the Northern lands. Close to Seheron, perhaps. 

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, would you mind telling me how you ended you bleeding out on the Coast?” Anders asked. Typically he asked his patients few questions, but usually his patients were sick or injured from a fall, not the lucky recipients of a few blades to the torso. He assumed raiders, but it could be something far worse; perhaps Ezio was on the run from someone. Who knew what kind of trouble Anders had gotten himself into just by tending to the man’s wounds.

“Something was taken from me,” Ezio said. “Something… valuable.”

“It wasn’t your maidenhood, I take it,” Anders said. Ezio looked at him sharply, and Anders chuckled, holding up his hands. “Joking, of course.”

Ezio relaxed, smiling softly, shaking his head. “They do not understand the power of the object they possess,” Ezio said. “The templars never think of risks, only rewards. It does not matter that people may die, that they place themselves in danger.”

“The templars did this to you?” Anders asked. It made no sense. Ezio was no mage, and the templars were not given free rein to harass and assault anyone they pleased. Anders had no faith in the morals of the templars or the Chantry they served, but from what he had seen no one but mages had been abused and mistreated. “Why would they harm you? You are no mage.”

“I do not understand this word,” Ezio said, “’Mage’. What does this mean?”

Anders blinked, staring at Ezio as if he’d grown a second head. What kind of person had never heard of mages? As far as Anders knew, there was nowhere in Thedas where mages weren’t known. This man had obviously taken a serious blow to the head, perhaps developed a concussion. Anders would probably need to examine him a little more.

“It’s nothing,” Anders said, “Let’s get you settled down, you obviously need more rest.”

“I do not need you tending to me like a child, _biondo_ ,” Ezio snapped. “Give me my things and I will leave. You do not need to involve yourself in this.”

“I am not _involving_ myself in anything,” Anders said. He gripped Ezio’s shoulder when he attempted to rise from the cot – feeling like he was doomed to repeat the same actions over and over again, no matter how many times he told Ezio he shouldn’t be moving. He was a stubborn man, entirely without thought to his own health and safety. He reminded Anders a bit of himself, which was probably why Anders found him so annoying. “I’m telling you that you _cannot_ move. If you try to leave this place, one of two things is going to happen. Either you’ll reopen your wounds and bleed out in a few minutes, or the templars will bring their full might down on your head. Either way you’ll be dead. I’m a skilled enough healer, Ezio, but I’ve yet to master resurrections.”

Ezio gripped Anders by his wrist and tossed his hand from his shoulder. “You’re speaking nonsense,” Ezio said, “And I’ve run out of patience. Hand me my things and I’ll be on my way. That is not a request, _figlio di puttana_.”

Arguing with Ezio was pointless. Anders was too tired to make another attempt. He gathered Ezio’s things – his armor and weaponry and his empty purse – and handed them over. As Ezio dressed, Anders made one last effort to convince him to remain in the Clinic, though it was half-hearted. He had no great affection for the man, had barely known him more than a handful of minutes – while he was conscious at least – and didn’t need to work himself into a tizzy trying to calm him. 

“It’s safe here,” Anders said, “The templars do not come here, and even if they did, there are a hundred different entrances into the sewers where someone could hide. You’re better off resting, recovering your strength. Nothing good will come from rushing into this---“

“You worry too much,” Ezio said, adjusting the cuff over his hidden blade. “And you talk even more. I appreciate your concern, _amico_ , but I can handle myself.”

Before he left, Ezio reached down and took Anders hand, covering his knuckles with his palm. “Grazie,” Ezio said. He held Anders eyes for a moment, longer than was necessary, Anders felt, but he didn’t say so. Having a handsome man hold your hand and look into your eyes wasn’t so terrible a burden. “Ciao,” Ezio said. 

He turned to leave. He made it a few steps before he stumbled and collapsed face first on the ground.

Anders went to collect him with a heavy sigh.

****

“I want you to stay in bed for a few days,” Anders said. “No arguing with me, no machismo, just do as you’re told.”

“ _Si_ ,” Ezio murmured, looking more like a petulant child than a man well into his forties. 

Anders settled back, rubbing the back of his neck. His muscles were tight, stiff. It had been a while since he had been forced to deal with such a stubborn and difficult patient. Healing Ezio the second time had taken a lot out of him, though at least the man had been unconscious both times. Anders hated to think of how much the man might have struggled had he been awake. 

“ _Stai bene_?” Ezio asked. When Anders looked at him confusedly, Ezio amended, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, fine,” Anders said. “Only a little… sore. Healing takes a toll on me, particularly when I pull a man from the clutches of death _twice in one day_.”

“Ah,” Ezio said, “I have heard physician’s talk of how caring for the sick and injured exhausts them. _Mi dispiace_ , I meant you no harm.”

“I am no doctor,” Anders said. Strange, the man still seemed to believe magic and mages simply didn’t exist. Anders had assumed with some rest he might regain his wits, but obviously he still needed time. He let it be, for the moment. “Anyway, I imagine you’ll want to rest, preferably without me whining at you, so I’ll excuse myself.”

Ezio sat up on his elbows, blowing his hair from his forehead when it fell over his eyes. “There was a woman with you,” Ezio said, “When I stumbled from the bushes, I remember a woman. Dark, with flowers in her hair.”

“Isabela,” Anders said.

“I would like it if I could see her again,” Ezio said, “Ah, to apologize, you understand? I believe I fell into her arms.”

“You’re not the first man to do so,” Anders chuckled, “But I’ll make sure you have a chance to speak with her. Now, get some rest. I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

Ezio settled back, closing his eyes and sighing deeply.

“You should rest too, _amico_ ,” he said, “When you’ve the chance.”

Anders wanted to tell him he never rested, that his purpose was of greater import than his own health. 

He didn’t.

“I will,” he lied.

****

 

He found Isabela at the Hanged Man, naturally, sitting with her back against the wall and a stein of ale in her hand. She smiled as he came closer, and Anders could see why Ezio had been so immediately taken with her. 

“I thought Justice didn’t let you drink,” Isabela said when Anders sat down beside her. 

“He doesn’t,” Anders said, “I’m not here for that.”

“Ooh,” Isabela purred, “What are you here for, big boy?”

“Not that either,” Anders chuckled. “I’m here on behalf of my patient.”

Isabela cocked her eyebrow, leaning forward on her elbow. “Patient?” She asked. 

“You remember him, I imagine,” Anders said, “He collapsed in your arms on the Coast.”

“You’ll need to be more specific,” Isabela said, giving him a crooked smile.

“Well, he was quite taken with you. I’m assuming it’s because of the blood loss, but it has never been my place to judge a man’s… taste.”

Isabela reached over and tweaked the end of Anders’ nose, her crooked smile growing into a grin. “And that’s why I like you so much,” Isabela said, “You’re so tolerant.”

“Yes, well… Give him a few days to rest up before you… Do whatever it is you do,” Anders cautioned. “He’s not exactly in a good frame of mind, and he lost quite a bit of blood. I imagine he’ll need that for the… activities you have planned.”

“Oh, no,” Isabela said. “Not much.”

Anders wondered why he felt so protective of the man. Ezio was his patient, true enough, but he had also been brusque, and cold, and rude. Anders had healed him and set him right, he no longer needed to feel obligated to look out for him like some kind of mother hen. Still, Anders had seen the people Isabela had bedded, and they had been much worse for wear after their encounter with the pirate. She was as rough a lover as she was a sailor, Anders presumed; crashing against the rocks like a strong tidal wave.

It was none of his concern what Isabela and Ezio did while they were alone. And in fact, he had no idea what they even planned on doing. Perhaps they wished to talk, to get to know one another – no doubt they had much in common judging by Ezio’s rather eclectic arsenal. Anders felt silly for being so possessive and protective over a man he had known for a handful of hours.

“Give him a day at the very least,” Anders said, “Then I’ll allow you to see him.”

“Allow me,” Isabela said, chuckling huskily. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t know anything about me, do you?”

“Isabela,” Anders warned.

“Fine, fine,” Isabela said, “One day.” She looked at him seriously, the smile disappearing from her face. A line creased her brow. “You said he wasn’t in a good frame of mind. What do you mean?”

“He’s under stress,” Anders said. “He doesn’t seem to remember much of anything. He claims to have no knowledge of mages or magic, and believes he hails from a place called… ‘ _Italia_ ’.”

“Never heard of it,” Isabela said. “And I’ve sailed all over Thedas.”

“He appears to be Antivan,” Anders murmured, “But when I mentioned it to him, he didn’t seem to recognize the name. He needs time to recover.”

“I’ll be gentle with him,” Isabela promised. “Aren’t I always?”

Anders stood from the table, crossing his arms and favoring her with an incredulous look. 

“Aww, come on. I’m usually somewhat gentle. Gentle-like. Gentle…ish.”

“Goodnight, Isabela,” Anders said, “ _One day_ , remember.”

“Absolutely,” Isabela said, “You’ve got it.”

 

****

 

When Anders found Isabela sneaking out of his Clinic the following morning, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. Expecting a pirate to keep her word was foolish, and while Anders could be called many things – and had been, by many different people – he had never been called a fool. 

“I trust your evening went well,” Anders said, sitting down beside Ezio’s cot and checking his bandages. He looked none the worse for wear, though he did look exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and when he looked at Anders it seemed he was looking _through_ him. Well, Isabela could be a handful, or so Anders had been told. Still, she had been gentle with Ezio; or as gentle as she could manage.

“Fine,” Ezio said. “Your friend is… interesting. I’ve never met a woman like her.”

“Doubt you’ll ever meet another one like her,” Anders said, “Isabela is… unique.”

“Passionate,” Ezio murmured, “Strong. We talked of blades and duels for most of the night. She is an accomplished sailor, if her word’s to be trusted.” Ezio chuckled, leaning back on his pillows, letting his fingers push through his hair. “When you look at her, though, you want to trust her. You want to believe everything she says.”

Anders felt a spike of jealousy in his chest. That was… unusual. Protectiveness he could understand – Ezio was his patient and needed to be cared for – but _jealousy_? It had been a long while since he had experienced such a thing; probably back when he had been a boy in the circle, lusting after someone who had not returned his affections.

“The two of you have a lot in common,” Anders said. “I just hope she wasn’t too… aggressive with you. Your wounds will take some time to heal fully.”

Ezio looked at him curiously. “Aggressive? No, no, we did not--- What kind of man do you take me for, _biondo_?”

Anders flushed. “I only thought that---“

“I do not pounce upon every woman I meet,” Ezio said, “And Isabela was more than happy to sit and talk with me. Nothing… happened between us. Truth be told I am not interested in anything happening. She’s a beautiful woman, and charming, and sharp. I only feel that---“ Ezio’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let Anders see how much pain he was in just from the simplest shift. “ _Merda_ , it is no concern of yours.”

“Quite right,” Anders said, “None of my business.”

Ezio rubbed his eyes, muttering something under his breath when Anders placed his hands on him to thoroughly check his bandages. More of his strange language, and judging by his tone some rather _colorful_ language at that. Anders cared little what mood the man was in, or what he had or hadn’t done with Isabela; he cared only for getting him better and on his way.

If his fingers lingered a bit too long on Ezio’s skin, what of it?

It didn’t mean anything.


	2. All That Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still recovering from his injuries, Ezio learns that Anders is a mage, and not everything is what he thinks it is. After spending the night with Isabela, Ezio also has to learn to accept that Anders cares for him more than he should.

Chapter Two

She held the Apple against her palm, expecting to feel some of the power she had before. When she had stood near Ezio, the Apple had seemed to… possess its own life-force. It had pulsed against her fingers, seemed to breathe under her touch. Now, though, it remained still. Not broken, no; _dormant, asleep_ , as though it was waiting for something.

The solid oak table in front of her was cluttered with random bits of magical items; scrolls, spell books, talismans, potions and poultices. In her years investigating magical artifacts for the Templars, she had never felt so disorganized, so clueless.

“Have you figured anything out, Erin?” 

Erin tensed, holding the Apple a little tighter. It wasn’t every day Knight-Commander Meredith came around to see her. In fact, Erin could count on one hand the number of times she had conversed with Meredith over her entire ten years serving the Templars. Fingers fluttered to her shorn hair, nails digging down against her scalp nervously.

“Ah, no ma’am,” Erin said. “It isn’t responding to anything we try.”

Meredith leaned over her shoulder. “Perhaps the First Enchanter should have a look at it.”

Erin’s mouth twisted. She loathed the man, and would prefer to keep the relic out of his hands. She had never trusted him, nor had she ever understood Meredith’s faith in him. The two obviously disliked one another, and yet Meredith held him in the highest regard, giving him untold resources and nearly free reign over the mages in his stead. Had Erin been in charge, she would have collared the man as quickly as the apprentices… but perhaps that was _why_ she wasn’t in charge.

“I would like some more time to figure it out before that, if you would allow it,” Erin said. “The man we retrieved this from had no magical ability, and yet it seemed to respond to him.”

“A few more days, then,” Meredith said. “And then I would like Orsino to have a look at it. If nothing comes of it, find the man you released and bring him in for questioning. I will not ask you to explain why you let him go in the first place.”

Erin swallowed, nails dipping low to scratch at the back of her neck. “Ah, yes,” Erin murmured, “My apologies, Knight-Commander.”

She could not bring herself to tell Meredith the man was most likely dead. He had been badly wounded and dumped on the Coast; the odds of him surviving his injuries were slim. 

It was best Meredith didn’t know that.

****  
The man was restless. Anders could understand his eagerness, but he remained firm in his belief that Ezio remain still and recover his strength before attempting… whatever it was he would be attempting. He had hoped with a bit of rest Ezio’s wits would return to him, but he remained vocal about having never heard of Antiva, or mages, or… anything Anders attempted to discuss with him.

Once, when Anders had been checking his wounds, applying a bit of salve to speed recovery, Ezio had smelled the elfroot and asked what medicine Anders was using. When hearing of the herb, Ezio had frowned and shaken his head. “No,” Ezio said, “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Is it common here?”

“It’s fairly common everywhere,” Anders said, but of course Ezio had only shrugged and continued to stare listlessly at the ceiling.

Broaching the subject of the templars only angered Ezio. Anders could understand his anger at the Order better than most, and it was one of the few things he and Ezio had in common. 

“I spent most of my youth locked away in the Circle in Ferelden,” Anders explained. It was late, his Clinic mostly empty, and Anders sat beside Ezio’s bed with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped between his legs. He kept his eyes down, not quite trusting what Ezio might find in them if he looked up. The man wanted a drink, something strong, and Anders obliged only on the off-chance it might help him sleep easier. Ezio had been having some… rather strange dreams. He muttered about an apple, and someone named Desmond, and other nonsense Anders made no attempt to try and understand.

The alcohol helped, if not Ezio’s restlessness, then at least his mood. He laughed and smiled more frequently with a drink in his hand. Anders wasn’t sure if Ezio’s mood was sour because of his predicament, or because of whom he was forced to spend his days with.

He preferred not knowing.

“What is this circle?” Ezio asked. “You were a prisoner there?”

“Oh, if you ask the templars, they’d tell you every mage in the Circle is there for their own good. In the Circle we receive the best training, the best guidance… and all we have to forfeit is our freedom, our dignity, our _lives_.”

Even Anders was a little irritated with the bitterness of his own voice, yet there was nothing he could do. Whenever he thought of the templars, his blood began to boil. It was the burn of justice – or perhaps Justice – the burn of years of subjugation and abuse and being denied the simple freedoms and joys most people took for granted.

He could remember being young, being afraid, being in a cold place. In a place of stone, in a place bereft of hope or happiness or love. Anders remembered the first time he had felt rain on his face, the first time he had felt lips touch his, warm, parted, slightly moist. Karl’s beard had tickled some, but Anders hadn’t minded. He could remember wrapping his arms around broad shoulders and pushing himself onto the balls of his feet, wanting the kiss to be deeper, to last longer, to last forever.

Like everything precious in his life, the templars had stolen that love from him. They had robbed Karl of every last bit of light and joy, and they had forced Anders’ hand to kill him, as though Karl was worth nothing more than a mongrel dog. So yes, Anders understood Ezio’s anger, he understood Ezio’s desire to see the templars burn, and he understood that complacency would change nothing.

Yet he also understood that rushing into things only ended in disaster. Perhaps he had been tempered by Hawke, or by his own failed attempts to hit the templars where It hurt the most, but Anders felt himself growing more cautious. Not complacent, no -- Justice would not allow it and Anders was of no mind to give in so easily – only _careful_.

“You keep speaking of mages,” Ezio said, “Humor me, _amico_. I am just drunk enough to enjoy the sound of your voice. Tell me what these mages are and why the templars would care about them.”

It seemed to Anders the question was a veritable minefield. One misstep and who knew what damage he might cause; both himself and Ezio. The man was obviously in a delicate mental state, and Anders had been putting off speaking of magic and the like for fear that he would once more grow aggressive and take leave of his senses. But Ezio seemed openly curious, and when he smiled Anders wanted to do anything to _keep_ him smiling. He admired the full shape of his lips, disturbed only by the thinnest of scars. Anders wondered what Ezio would do if he touched his mouth, perhaps with just the heel of his thumb… 

He remembered the blade strapped to Ezio’s forearm and thought better of it.

Anders took a long drink of ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Justice didn’t enjoy when he drank, but sod it; Anders needed to steel himself.

“Mages use magic,” Anders said. He sounded stupid to his own ears, as though he were speaking to a small child who wasn’t particularly bright. He listened to his tone, soft and gentle, and he wanted to kick himself. Ezio might have sustained a bit of trauma, but he wasn’t made of glass. “The templars are an Order founded to… keep mages in check, to make sure we don’t harm ourselves or others. They’re an arm of the Chantry, though they might believe they act with altruistically, they are, in fact, indiscriminate, and treat all mages as abominations, or like they have the potential to _become_ abominations.”

“No,” Ezio said, “The Templars are the sworn enemies of the Assassins. My friend, I fear that you are deeply troubled.”

Anders leaned closer to him, holding his hand out in front of Ezio’s face. He held Ezio’s eyes, watching the fire flicker in their reflection as his fingertips held the blaze. For a long moment, Ezio was still, eyes wide, lips thinned and mouth sealed tightly. And then he was up, so quickly that Anders nearly missed the movement. Somehow Ezio was behind him, with his blade pressed to the side of Anders’ throat.

“Ezio,” Anders whispered.

“ _Demone_ ,” Ezio growled, “You hide behind a sweet face and sweet words. _Quello che sei?_ ”

“Ezio,” Anders said. He swallowed, feeling the blade press tighter to his throat. A little more pressure and everything would be over. His life, everything he struggled for, everything he hoped to achieve, all ended because some fool had lost his wits. “Calm down,” Anders said, gently, softly, trying to keep his soothing tone. “Just calm down and… stop. You’re hurting me, Ezio.”

The blade stopped pricking his skin, but Anders could feel the cold steel against him, brushing over his stubble. 

“You’ve obviously gone through a lot,” Anders said, “I understand that. But you have to trust me. You have to know I mean you no harm. Why would I find you on the Coast and bring you here if I meant to hurt you? Why would I heal you?”

The fire was gone from his fingertips, replaced by a soft blue light. He reached out and took Ezio’s wrist, knowing he tempted fate, knowing the man moved lightning fast and it would take only the barest bit of pressure to spill Anders’ blood all over the Clinic floor. He trusted himself to Ezio’s better nature, and when his fingertips found Ezio’s pulse, Ezio sighed softly. It was… fascinatingly intimate; that was the only way Anders could describe it. He felt Ezio’s breath brush over his temple, felt his pulse beating fast and hard under his thumb, and he sighed with him.

“Magic does more than destroy,” Anders whispered. “Please just… calm down, Ezio.”

Ezio moved to stand over Anders, looking down into Anders’ eyes. “Before the Apple, I might have found it… difficult to believe,” Ezio said. “But my… mind has been opened a bit.” Ezio moved to his knees, taking Anders’ hand and turning it over, staring fixedly at the mage’s palm. “You do not seem to be like any demon I’ve ever heard of,” Ezio said. He smiled, weakly, but it was better than nothing. Anders wasn’t sure if the alcohol was dulling his senses or not, but if it kept Ezio calm, Anders couldn’t be bothered to care. He still made no sense, but at least he had placed his knife back where it belonged.

There was something else, though…

“You say the Templars oppose Assassins,” Anders said, “What do you mean?”

“Where I come from, they are our sworn enemies,” Ezio said.

“You’re an assassin?” Anders asked.

“ _Si_ ,” Ezio said, “I am. I do not… tell that to many people. I am not sure if I am drunk or merely…” Ezio shook his head, sitting back on his heels and turning his face up. Once again Anders wanted to see how that scar would feel under his thumb, if Ezio’s lips might tremble, or if they would be as hard and unyielding as stone. To have such thoughts about a man who had just moments before held a knife to your throat was… disconcerting, to say the least.

“Merely?” Anders asked.

“Ah, _non importa_ ,” Ezio murmured. “You say the Templars imprison mages here?”

“All throughout Thedas,” Anders said.

“Thedas?”

Anders sighed. “You’ve sustained quite a shock… trauma, perhaps a concussion. Your memory loss is---“

“I have not lost my memory,” Ezio interrupted, “Neither have I lost my senses. You speak of things you do not understand, _biondo_. I would caution you to use your own wits before you accuse others of losing theirs.”

He would not press the issue. Ezio needed time; he needed to remember that the world he was in was the only world there was, and that everything else was only a figment of his imagination. The shock of that would’ve broken many a man, but Anders was confident Ezio was strong enough to withstand it. He was obviously a Crow – Anders knew of no other assassin who could be so skilled. He moved fluidly, like water over a cliff, and made no sound. Ezio had managed to get behind him and press his blade to Anders’ throat before Anders had even been aware he had _moved_ ; no other but the Crows trained their assassin’s so well.

Perhaps he could track down the Warden-Commander’s friend, the elf with the salacious tongue: Zevran. It was a possibility, and knowing Zevran’s reputation, he had probably met Ezio before, if not bedded him. 

There was so much Anders wanted to ask him, to tell him, but he knew it would only irritate Ezio and most likely seal his lips for good. And so Anders stood and dusted off his robes, holding out his hand to Ezio. “The ale here tastes like piss,” Anders said, “I know where you can get some of the finest ale in the Free Marches, if you’re not too particular about the company you keep.”

“Ah, that is kind of you,” Ezio said, “But I do believe you told me I should stay put. I am trying to follow your orders, _amico_.” Ezio smiled, smugly, as though he had won some kind of battle instead of behaving like a petulant child. Anders returned the smile; his own a fair bit warmer than Ezio’s. 

“Isabela will be there,” Anders said.

“Bring me my coat,” Ezio said.

****

Around the table in Varric’s suite, Ezio told them some of the things he had done, the places he had seen, the people he had known. 

Ezio spoke of one fellow – Leonardo – whom had assisted him over the years and been a trusted friend. He never said as much, but Anders could tell from the wistful look on his face and the softness of his voice that he missed his friend and longed to return to him. Had he the power, Anders would have sent him immediately, if only to drive such sadness from him – but Anders was powerless to return Ezio to a land and a friend that, to Anders’ knowledge, had never existed.

“These adventures of yours are grand and all,” Isabela said, “But I’m more interested in your _other_ adventures.”

“You speak of romance,” Ezio said.

“Ugh, Maker forbid,” Isabela murmured. She cupped her chin in her hands, leaning forward on her elbows. The way she looked at Ezio only cemented Anders’ belief that they had in fact been together, no matter what Ezio had said. And if they hadn’t, it was only a matter of time. Isabela had a way of getting what she wanted, and judging by the look in Ezio’s eyes he was more than willing to be the object of her… affection.

Anders tried to brush off the twist of jealousy. It was terribly distracting and entirely pointless.

“Romance doesn’t hold much interest for me,” Isabela said. “Sex, though---“

“I wouldn’t speak of such things to a lady,” Ezio said. He smiled -- warmer and brighter than Anders had ever seen him smile -- and shook his head. “No, it isn’t proper.”

“It’s a damn good thing you’re not speaking to a lady,” Isabela chuckled.

“Are you entirely without shame, _bella donna_?” Ezio asked.

“Not _entirely_ , no,” Isabela purred. “Only mostly.”

Anders wished the others had come. With Fenris there, Ezio might have found someone to distract him from his flirtation with Isabela. Most likely the elf and Ezio would have a friendly rapport; they both seemed fond of killing, and even fonder of honing their bodies as weapons. Anders felt foolish that he even desired to distract Ezio at all. It was none of his concern, none of his business what Ezio did or with whom he did it. 

Still, that bitter twist of jealousy in his chest and stomach refused to lessen. He looked between Ezio and Isabela, and he felt it growing teeth.

“Perhaps the two of you would like to be alone,” Anders said.

“Why would we want that?” Isabela asked. “Three is always better than two if you ask me.”

“Stay, _amico_ ,” Ezio said. 

“No, that’s quite alright,” Anders murmured. “I really should be getting back now. I’m glad you’re able to relax, and I hope I wasn’t lying about the ale.”

“ _Perfecto_ ,” Ezio said, raising a glass to Anders when he stood to leave. “ _Grazie_ … Anders.” It was the first time Ezio had actually said his name. Anders wasn’t sure what that meant, or if it meant anything at all. Most likely it meant nothing, and Anders was once again behaving foolishly. Justice was right to caution him against distraction. It did… strange things to him, unfocused his mind and softened his heart; turned him away from the only thing that mattered.

Destroying the templars.

Still, Anders would try and contact Zevran; he told himself it would bring him one step closer to having Ezio recovered and out of his hair.

He only had to convince himself that was the truth and everything would be fine.

****

Better to wake up with warm brown skin pressed against him and wavy hair damp against his face than to wake up chained to a bedpost. Then again, Isabela seemed the type who would happily chain him to a bedpost if he liked. His estimation that she was a unique woman was being proven truer every day. It was not only that she was a sexual person, independent and confident and in control of her pleasure. She was… bold, brash, and entirely uncompromising. She spoke plainly, but her eyes were deep and held truth no man had the courage to face. 

Not even Ezio.

She spoke of her adventures openly, laughing loud and long at her own foolishness. Ezio had made a comment about her necklace, heavy and covering her throat, making it impossible to get at her pulse with a blade. It had seemed to him to be an innocuous statement, an admiration of her forethought, perhaps pitying her a bit for her incapacity to trust the ones she let so near her throat.

Isabela had moved closer to him, her hand on his thigh, and then she was there, sitting on his thigh and kissing him. Ezio had thought of pushing her away, but she had felt… nice. Solid, but soft in all the right places; her heavy breasts had pressed against him, and Ezio had found himself eager to slip between her thighs.

Her sheets, though… Ezio had had no intention of slipping between those. So when he awoke between them, with her limbs twined around him and her mouth seductively close his jaw, Ezio was… a little surprised. 

It had been a long while since he had spent the night in a lover’s bed. Isabela shifted, her breath brushing against his ear, and it was far too late to slip away. 

“Oh,” she purred, “You’re still here.”

“ _Si_ ,” Ezio said, trailing his fingertips from her hip down the back of her thigh. 

“I thought you would’ve left by now,” Isabela said, “I’m surprised Anders hasn’t come to collect you.” She chuckled, giving a small nibble to Ezio’s earlobe, sending shivers up his spine and through his stomach. “He wants to keep you pretty far away from me. Poor boy.”

“He has no reason to keep me from you,” Ezio said, “I am well enough to spend my time how I choose. He fusses over me more than my mother did.”

Isabela leaned up on her elbow, her nails curling against Ezio’s chest. Every inch of her was sleek, smooth, like silk; except her nails. They were blunt, chewed ragged, caked with dirt. It excited Ezio, though he was more likely to admit to wanting to marry a templar than tell her so. 

“Sweetheart,” Isabela said. Her tone was similar to how a woman would talk to a small, stubborn child. “You really don’t _see_ it?”

Ezio was tired of being talked to like a child. He was an Assassin, a senior in the Brotherhood. He had done things Isabela couldn’t even imagine, seen things she would rather not know of, and lived through things that would have destroyed lesser men. He would not be coddled, or sweet-talked, or made to feel simple minded.

“If you have something to say, say it,” Ezio snapped. “I’m too old for games.”

Isabela laughed. It was difficult to remain angry when she did that. She had a nice laugh, husky and powerful. “If you haven’t seen the way he looks at you, I don’t really know that there’s any helping you,” she said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ezio murmured. He did, but that didn’t mean he had to admit such a thing to Isabela. Of course he had noticed the way Anders had looked at him, the way he always seemed to be watching. He had noticed the softness of his eyes, of his touch, of his voice; the way the latter trembled just a bit when Ezio inadvertently touched him, or let himself get too close.

Ezio found the behavior strange. No, it wasn’t strange that the man desired him – it was far from the first time Ezio had been desired – it was strange that Anders would be so attracted to him when he believed Ezio was delusional. Something was wrong, that much was evident, but Ezio didn’t know what. The world was unfamiliar, though that wasn’t what concerned him; the magic, though, yes, that was something Ezio had never expected to find. The Apple and its strange powers and his conversation with Minerva had opened his mind to things beyond his understanding, to things that rested outside of what he could see and what he could touch. Still, Anders’ magic and the plight of the templars in his land confused Ezio, and made any… affection he might feel for the man far more tenuous.

More than anything, Ezio did not want someone to be coy with him. He preferred boldness and action. He would have respected Anders more if he had taken him by the collar and slammed their mouths together. At least then everything would be on the table. As he had said, he was far too old for games.

His mission was to retrieve the Apple at any cost. If he could leave a river of templar blood in his wake, so much the better. His mission did _not_ include bedding a pirate, or having some mage boy pine for him. It didn’t matter that the pirate was dark and smooth and sexier than any woman Ezio had ever met before – just as it didn’t matter that the mage boy was handsome and kind and had the sweetest eyes Ezio had ever seen.

What mattered was getting the Apple and returning home.

“I’m sure you do,” Isabela said, “But it doesn’t matter.” She kissed him, lips open, tongue warm on his teeth. Ezio breathed in and she was there, inside of him, something he didn’t need to survive, but something that made surviving a little sweeter. He was obviously exhausted. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t separate himself from her thighs and her lips on his skin.

He couldn’t seem to explain the ache in his chest that wasn’t for her, or _because_ of her.

“Seems to me your time here is short,” Isabela said. “You might want to make the most of it.” She looked into his eyes, and there was no mercy there, no offer for Ezio to look away. He met her eyes and saw the hard, raw truth there. “Then again, what do I know?” Isabela asked. “Thanks for giving me a nice time, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” Ezio said. He felt stupid. He had never thanked a woman after sex. It was… strange. Isabela laughed, and he supposed that was alright.

It was better when she laughed. 

****

The Clinic was empty when Ezio returned. Strange, he had never seen it free of patients, and never free of Anders. The man was as much a part of the place as the place was a part of him. He wore the smell in the feathers at his shoulders and carried the dirt and blood under his ragged fingernails. Ezio could respect a man who tried to put down roots, who tried to make the place he lived better, a little brighter. 

He wandered the Clinic aimlessly, not sure what he expected to find, or what he had even come to say. Most likely he had made Anders worry with his unexplained absence, but Ezio had long since tired of being coddled and pecked over. He was healthy, and he was ready to strike.

So that begged the question, then: Why had he come to see Anders?

He had owed him thanks, which he had given. More than that, Ezio owed nothing. Anders was a good man-- mired in anger and bitterness, yes, but a good man – but Ezio couldn’t waste time tangling himself in the man’s affairs. 

Someone grabbed his shoulder. Ezio turned and nearly sank his blade into Anders’ throat. Well, the man needed to learn not to sneak up on an assassin; though the very fact that he had _managed_ to sneak up on him was embarrassing. 

“What are you doing here?” Anders asked. He didn’t flinch from the blade, or Ezio’s hard eyes. His voice was cool, clipped, _professional_. 

“Ah, _scuse_ ,” Ezio murmured. He pulled his knife back, sheathing it beneath his wrist guard. “I thought--- No, it doesn’t matter. I only wished to speak with you before I left.”

“You’re leaving?” Anders asked. Still, his voice remained cold, devoid of all feeling and inflection. His eyes, though, they were saying more than his words ever could, and they were a fair mite warmer than his voice. Not warm with affection or desire, but warm with _anger_.

“ _Si_ ,” Ezio said. “The templars are in possession of something that is not for their hands. I mean to take it back from them.”

“You’re going to storm the Keep,” Anders said, “Alone. With only your little blade and your bow and what must be a staggering amount of insanity on your side.”

“If you mean to deter me---“

“I mean to save your life, you blighted _fool_ ,” Anders snapped. He grabbed Ezio’s shoulders and pushed him against the wall, slipping his leg up when Ezio attempted to break free and easing his knee against Ezio’s groin. Not painful, not _yet_. “This will be the second time I’ve saved your life, Ezio. You seem terribly intent to get yourself killed.”

“You are treading thin ice, _amico_ ,” Ezio warned. His voice was tight, low, dangerous. He was dangerously close to showing Anders just what he was capable of. “Let go of me or you will regret it, that I promise you. I do not want to hurt you.”

Anders laughed, bitterly, and squeezed tighter around Ezio’s shoulders. “Do you think you’re the only one who wants to destroy the templars?” Anders asked. “Do you think you’re the only one who they’ve mistreated, who they’ve robbed? They stole my life from me, Ezio. They stole everything. Everything worth holding onto, everything that I loved… And I can’t…”

“Anders---“

“I can’t lose you too,” Anders whispered. His eyes were wet, his voice breaking up, no longer cold and collected, no longer indignant; only _broken_. “Let me help you,” Anders pleaded, “Please.”

The mage obviously believed Ezio incapable of protecting himself. He was behaving irrationally. He was too emotional, too tangled up, too dependent on Ezio’s survival. They had known one another for a week and Anders was acting as though they had been friends their entire lives. 

Ezio supposed that was the very reason he reached out and took Anders’ face into his hands, letting his thumbs brush over his cheekbones and down over rough stubble. Not because Anders was possessive, no, but because he cared enough to risk his own life holding Ezio back. He cared enough to stand up, to place himself between an assassin and the object of his desire. He cared enough, he cared _too much_ , he wore his heart on his sleeve and his soul on the surface of his eyes; there was not enough coldness in Ezio to hurt him, in any way. 

“Fine,” Ezio said, his voice soft, soothing. “I will not go.”

“Oh, yes,” Anders said, “You _will_ ; just not alone.”

He released Ezio and stepped back, reaching into the pouch at his hip and pulling out a bit of paper. He handed the rolled vellum to Ezio, smiling a little smugly. Well, his moods were as unpredictable and devastating as the weather. Ezio was fast learning that Anders was a man of many faces – and he was not yet sure which face was his _true_ face.

Ezio unrolled the vellum and found himself looking at a… map, he supposed. It was confusing, filled with twists and turns and scribbled words he couldn’t read. Anders moved beside him and dragged his finger over the old paper, tapping each section of the map as he spoke. “This is a map of the entire Underground,” Anders explained. “Right here is where we are, and over here is an entrance to the sewers; the closest to my Clinic at least. Every one of these tunnels leads to different areas of Kirkwall. But _this one_ leads directly under the Gallows. That is your way inside.”

“Do I want to know how you came by this, _biondo_?”

“No,” Anders said. Again, he was serious, his brow dark, his lips thin. “You don’t.”

Ezio nodded. “We will go together, then, if you believe that is the best way.”

“It’s the only way,” Anders said, “But we will need more than ourselves to make it past the Gallows. You’re a skilled assassin, Ezio, but you’re only a man. You do know that the templars aren’t to be trifled with.”

Yes, he knew. He had learned long ago.

“Gather the rest,” Ezio said, “We will leave imm---“

“Do not rush,” Anders interrupted, “We will prepare and take our time.” His hand rested against Ezio’s neck, fingers squeezing gently. “We’ll get back what they stole from you, Ezio. We’ll make every last one of them pay.”

There was the shift again. Ezio couldn’t get a handle on Anders at all. He didn’t like it, but he _did_. Everything was terribly complicated when it came to the mage. 

Anders took a seat on one of the crates, looking at his hands, studying his dirty, scarred knuckles as though they were the most interesting things in the world. Ezio wanted to leave him, wanted to leave whatever deep wound he was nursing be, to not dig his blade in and make it worse. Yet he couldn’t go.

“What did they do to you?” Ezio asked. 

No laugh, bitter or otherwise, only a low, trembling sigh. The tremble worked through his body, and when it reached his fingers Anders folded them against his thighs. Ezio sat beside him, not sure what to do or say, not sure if he should do or say anything at all. He settled for wrapping his arm around Anders’ shoulders.

“It’s better to ask what they didn’t do,” Anders whispered. 

“You said they stole everything,” Ezio said. “What did you mean?”

“My life,” Anders said. “My freedom. My innocence. Everything… everything that I loved.”

“Someone,” Ezio said, “Is that right? They stole someone from you.”

Anders went stiff against him. “Yes,” he said, so soft that Ezio nearly missed the word. It came on a ragged breath.

Ezio touched his lips to Anders’ ear. 

“They will pay then,” Ezio said, “For everything they have done to you. I promise you that, _amico. Lo giuro sulla mia vita_.”

Anders rested his head against Ezio’s chest. For a little while, Ezio only held him and let everything else cease to matter. For a little while they merely breathed together, took strength from one another, let their hearts beat in time. For a little while it was the two of them, and it was all that Ezio needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title:** The Price of Freedom (Chapter Two)  
>  **Word Count:** 5487  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Warnings:** Nudity, sexual content, adult language  
>  **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age (c) Bioware  & EA; Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> Chapter two of a commission for limespices on tumblr :)


	3. Il Mio Amato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran arrives to try and help Anders understand just where Ezio came from and how he came by his skills.  
> There's more to Ezio than either of them can ever hope to understand; and more to Anders and Ezio's relationship than either of them can resist any longer.

When Anders entered the room, Ezio knew that he would be getting no work done that day. He had seen every face the man could wear, every twist of his lips and lift of his eyebrows and flush of his cheek. At least, Ezio had thought so; but when Anders took the map from his hands and set it aside, when he kneeled before Ezio and looked up into his face, when he took Ezio’s hands into his own and stroked his rough thumbs over rougher knuckles, Ezio knew he had been wrong.

He had never seen him naked. 

His eyes were bottomless, lovely, entirely without walls or shadows. Ezio swallowed, suddenly very aware of his own heart beating against his ribs; terribly aware of his own body. Anders reached up and stroked the heel of his thumb over the scar on Ezio’s lip. He smiled, a sweet smile at odds with his lustful eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time,” Anders whispered, “My apologies if I---“

Ezio touched his lips to Anders’ brow, inching lower over his nose and across his cheekbones. He skirted the mage’s mouth, kissing around to his chin and up his jaw, keeping his hands cupped at the nape of Anders’ neck. When Anders breathed his name, Ezio finally kissed him, hard, his lips parted, his tongue easing between Anders’ teeth.

Everything had been stolen from Anders, his freedom and his innocence and his love. Ezio could not return everything to him, but he could give him something; something that might sustain him, at least for a little while. Something that might lift his heart. Ezio had lived before without hope, without joy; it was a terrible thing. You might as well have been dead, to live in such darkness and such misery. When Ezio had lost his family, he had been swallowed in despair and an insatiable need for vengeance.

But vengeance was not justice, and he knew that. Anders still needed to learn.

“You and Isabela,” Anders whispered. “I know I shouldn’t mind, but---“

“It’s done with,” Ezio said. “Let me tell you something I learned a long while ago, amore: Do not dwell on what cannot be changed.”

Anders slid his fingers beneath Ezio’s hood, through his hair, settling his mouth over the scar on Ezio’s lips. “I only wanted to know where we stood,” Anders said.

“You don’t want to talk, il mio amato,” Ezio murmured. He nudged his nose against Anders’, closing his eyes when he felt the mage’s warm breath against his lips. “Do you?”

No, the last thing Anders wanted was to talk. He could feel it in the rush of his breath over his lips, could sense it in the small trembles of Anders’ body, could see it in his warm eyes, could taste it on his tongue. Ezio believed Anders spent a fair bit of time talking; of mages, of war, of retribution, of punishment. What he needed was to feel, to allow himself to have no thoughts other than desire, no thoughts other than need. “Be selfish,” Ezio said, a chuckle disturbing his words and his lips. “For once, be selfish and tell me what you need.”

That was the tragic thing about Anders – he honestly didn’t know what he needed. Ezio looked into his eyes and saw nothing more than a frightened boy; a boy who had been broken and damaged and abandoned. They were more alike than Anders would ever know, and because of that, Ezio was gentle with him. He was gentle with Anders the way no one had ever been gentle with him. He had been a boy as broken as Anders, and he loved him as much as he could, as much as he could love the reflection of himself he found in Anders’ eyes.

“You,” Anders said. He kissed Ezio’s jaw, nose tucked against his heavy beard. Dirty fingers trembled and curled against Ezio’s shoulders. He breathed in the smell of him – herbs and incense and dirt – and sighed Anders’ name. There wasn’t enough time, Ezio figured, to be good to him, to take him in the place where Anders had saved him, to move himself over pale, freckled skin like shadow. Never enough time to love him, Ezio knew, and never enough time to be loved. 

When Anders pulled back, Ezio kept his hand pressed firmly at the center of his back. There was no sense in refusing what you needed. Ezio would never understand the mage, not even if he was given all the time in the world. 

“I can’t,” Anders whispered. “There’s… There’s too much at stake now. Everyone that I love always ends up getting hurt and being stolen from me. I will not risk that with you.”

“Anders---“

“There’s something about me I never told you,” Anders said, “Something that you are better off never knowing. Please just believe me when I say I want you, that there’s nothing I’d rather do than be with you. But I can’t.”

He was making no sense. What could possibly be holding him back? Why did there seem to be a presence between them, keeping them apart? Ezio understood little about the place he found himself in and the man he found himself desiring, but he understood enough to know that Anders was afraid. Afraid of trusting him, afraid of letting Ezio inside of a place he had kept closed for so long. 

“You are afraid to love me,” Ezio said. “Afraid to be loved. I will tell you this, amato, and only this: life is full enough of regrets, do not let this be one more.”

Anders smiled. It was the saddest smile Ezio had ever seen, and it hurt him in a way he had not expected. Well, even a great assassin was not prepared for everything. Anders thumb brushed over the scar on Ezio’s lip once more, stroking slow and gentle. “I will take this regret with me,” Anders whispered, “Perhaps more than any other.”

“You’re an idioto,” Ezio said. He sighed, looking away from Anders’ eyes. 

“Yes,” Anders said, “I thought you knew that already.”

****

“Not sure why you needed this guy found, blondie, but I managed it. He really didn’t want to be found, I’ll tell you that much. He’s ducking someone pretty scary, apparently.”

“Much more than someone,” Anders said. It was late and he was exhausted, but Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man provided a safe haven. It had come to be a home for him, which was strange considering he was not the kind to put down roots. Varric had proved to be a foundation for him, someone who asked him no questions and afforded him comfort and companionship. The dwarf would scoff whenever Anders spoke of how he deserved no friendship, only saying what he always said; “My palatial suite is your palatial suite.”

“Ah, yes,” Varric said. “I heard about his trouble with the Crows. He’s managed to piss off a lot of dangerous people. I would say something about the company you keep, blondie, but I’m not much better.”

“When will he arrive?” Anders asked. 

“Two days,” Varric said. “His messenger says he’s ‘laying low’ for a bit. Wise decision from an unwise man. The Maker works in mysterious ways.”

Varric looked at him closely, clucking his tongue. “You look like shit,” he said, “No offense. You need the sofa, blondie?”

“No,” Anders said. His chin touched his chest and he jerked his head up, blinking rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. He was fighting a losing battle. “I’m fine, I just… had a rough day.”

That was one way to put it. After seeing Ezio, he had spent most of the day planning their attack, trying to rally as much support as he could. Isabela was on board, naturally, and as was Fenris when he was given the details. Hawke had declined, not wanting to take the fight to the Templars directly. He had begged Anders to reconsider, but there was no more room for doubt or hesitation. Aveline couldn’t be trusted with the details, and neither could Sebastian. Both of them might go to the Grand Cleric, or worse, to the Knight-Commander. Merrill had refused, too consumed with her mirror to spare him much attention. 

They needed more support, there was no getting around it. Varric would join them, of that Anders had no doubt, but five people were not enough to make it through the stronghold of the Gallows; but if they had to manage, then they would.

Worse than that, Anders was knotted up over what had happened with Ezio. He was the first person in a long while that Anders had felt such heat and electricity with. The first person that had set him on fire and tangled him up so terribly. But there were things Ezio didn’t know, things he never could know, and Anders wasn’t in the habit of keeping secrets from his lover – at least not when they were secrets that might put them in danger.

Justice wanted to remain focused, and Ezio was a distraction. Worse, he was leading Anders down a dangerous path, hastening his assault on the Templars, limiting his resources and his allies and sapping him of patience. 

It took more courage to love him than it did to push him away, no matter what Anders told himself. He simply wasn’t strong enough to give himself over, to trust himself to someone else’s hands.

“Sleep it off,” Varric said. His tone indicated he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Anders pushed himself up from the table and walked towards the private room just off of Varric’s ‘main office’, as the dwarf called it. He tossed himself on the overstuffed sofa, tucking his hand under his cheek and closing his eyes. Sleep was slow in coming. He was too anxious, too conflicted, too confused, too tangled up in Ezio’s smile and Ezio’s eyes. Anders wished he had a silver for each time he thought of the man; at least then there would be a point.

“You love him then,” Varric said.

Anders wasn’t surprised the dwarf had followed him. He usually did, most likely to make sure Anders got to sleep, or that no one disturbed him. It was… comforting to have someone care for him so much, to have someone concern themselves with his comfort and peace of mind. 

“I suppose I do,” Anders whispered. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t let Varric see too much. 

“Rookie mistake,” Varric chastised. He chuckled, letting his fingers press in over Anders’ temple, rubbing in slow, easing circles. “What do you plan on doing about it?”

“Nothing,” Anders said.

“Sounds healthy,” Varric murmured. “Good luck with that, blondie.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Anders asked. “No good will come of it.”

Varric’s fingers continued to massage his temple, helping him edge nearer to sleep. Anders breathed in the smell of sharp smoke and sweet incense, and felt himself drifting. When Varric spoke, Anders knew he was smiling; he could hear it in his voice.

“Call me dense,” Varric said, “But since when has something being a bad idea stopped you before?”

****

Zevran arrived at Anders’ clinic with his hair slicked against his face and his cloak heavy with rain. Thunder boomed and shook the stone of the Undercity; well, Anders was surprised Zevran hadn’t anticipated some kind of bad luck. It was the way of things for the both of them that something would always manage to go wrong. 

“Ah, it’s good to see you, my friend,” Zevran said. He stood on the balls of his feet and kissed Anders’ cheeks, squeezing his shoulders companionably. “I trust you’ve been taking care of yourself?”

“Well as I can,” Anders said. “I haven’t blown anything up, at the very least.”

“Good, good,” Zevran said. He pushed his fingers through his slick hair, clearing his face, and smiled up at Anders. That was the one thing Anders could say about the elf – no matter what he found grating about the man, he had the kind of smile that could brighten a room and warm a person to their toes. “I hope you know I’ve risked exposing myself by coming here. And not in the good way, mind you. In the way that ends up with me being stuck with a lot of sharp, pointy things.” 

“I understand. I wouldn’t have asked you if it wasn’t important. Or, well, if I didn’t think you might be able to help.”

Zevran moved past him, looking around Anders’ Clinic and clucking his tongue. “You are as tidy as ever,” Zevran chuckled. “Honestly, friends with the Champion of Kirkwall and you still live like this?”

“Hawke has offered to give me more… comfortable lodging,” Anders said, “But I prefer it here. The people here need me.”

“Easier to hide from the templars, yes,” Zevran murmured, giving an appraising nod to the makeshift home Anders had made for himself. “Pretty it up however you like, but we both know that is the reason you prefer this place.”

Anders met Zevran’s eyes steadily. “Yes,” he said, “That is why.”

He led the elf to where Ezio waited. The assassin had been unwilling at first to meet with anyone, claiming that they needed to get moving, that they needed to retrieve what had been stolen from him or the whole of existence would suffer for their inaction. It amazed Anders as much as it did Ezio when he had relented after the most meager of dissuasion. For such an important mission, Ezio had given up far too easily; one look into Anders’ eyes and he had sighed and sunk down onto a cot, the same that he had rested on while recovering from his injuries. The most Ezio had muttered had been, “Make it quick at the very least,” before falling into brooding silence.

Anders expected one of two things to happen when he introduced the two; either they would become fast friends, or they would find one another far too similar to do anything other than butt heads. And so when Ezio looked up at Zevran and his throat worked but no sound came, and his eyes widened, Anders was a little taken aback. 

“What’s the matter?” Anders asked.

“Dio mio,” Ezio whispered, “What are you?”

Zevran cocked an eyebrow, his wide smile softening to a smirk. “Excuse me?” Zevran asked. “That seems like a rather rude question to ask such a devastatingly handsome man? Wouldn’t you rather know what underwear I have on?”

Ezio stood quickly, towering over the elf. He reached out, and Zevran tensed, hand slipping to the hilt of his blade before he realized Ezio meant him no harm. Instead, Ezio ran a finger over one of his ears, from the lobe to the tip, looking more like an enraptured child than a hardened assassin. 

“Ah, that’s very sweet of you,” Zevran purred. He gripped Ezio’s wrist and pushed his hand away. “But I’m afraid you’ll need to at least buy me dinner before I let you stroke me. Even the ears. Terribly cruel, I know, but a man has to have some rules.”

“You can’t be real,” Ezio said.

“I’ve heard that before,” Zevran chuckled. “I know, I know. Someone so beautiful and charming can’t possibly exist, but I assure you I am quite real, my friend.”

Anders gripped Ezio by his bicep, leaning in close and placing his lips to Ezio’s ear. “What’s gotten into you?” Anders demanded. “You’re behaving rather rudely.”

“I’ve never seen a… creature like this,” Ezio said. “I don’t… I am not sure what---“

“You’ve never seen an elf?” Anders asked. “Ezio, elves are common in every part of Thedas. Where exactly do you come from?”

“I’ve told you,” Ezio said. “Italia. That is my home, and it’s where I need to return. I do not know where this Thedas is, or why you have such strange people as this boy here, but I can’t stay here.”

Zevran grabbed Anders by his arm and hauled him away from Ezio. It was rare that the elf ever expressed anything but irreverence, but he looked deathly serious as he dragged the mage across the room. 

“That man is not Antivan,” Zevran said.

“But he---“

“He is not a Crow, and he is not Antivan,” Zevran insisted. “I can look at him and tell he does not belong here, and he comes from somewhere further than either of us have ever traveled.” 

“I don’t understand,” Anders said, “If he isn’t from Thedas, where is he from?”

“I don’t know,” Zevran murmured, “But he is no Brother of mine, and he is dangerous. The Crows trained us all ruthlessly, sometimes to the brink of death. They honed us into dangerous weapons; but that man is worse, do you understand? He is more skilled than any Crow.”

“You’ve never seen him fight, how could you possibly---“

“He had his blade drawn and pressed to my stomach before I could even blink,” Zevran said. “No Crow, no matter how well-trained, is that fast. He is not a Crow, and he is not Antivan.”

Anders hadn’t even seen Ezio draw his blade, or move it towards Zevran. He recalled how quickly Ezio had moved when he had seen Anders using magic. He had blinked and Ezio had been gone, blade cold on his throat, breath hot on his ear. It shouldn’t have excited him then, and it certainly shouldn’t have excited him then; but it did. 

A weapon, honed and sharpened. Ezio was a dangerous man to cross, that much Anders did understand, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around Ezio being from somewhere other than Thedas. What other lands existed?

There was a sharp whistle, and they both turned to see Ezio standing with his hands on his hips and his thick brows drawn together. “Mi scusi,” Ezio said, “I hate to interrupt, but there was a point to all of this, si? Or are you wasting my time?”

“Anders invited me here to---“

“Assist us in our attack on the Gallows,” Anders finished. He might not have been as stealthy as Zevran or Ezio, but he managed to grip the elf’s arm and pinch him tightly without Ezio being any the wiser.

“A-ah, yes,” Zevran stammered. “That is right. I’ll be joining you… Shocking, I know.”

“We could use a skilled assassin,” Ezio said, “Other than myself.”

“Indeed,” Zevran agreed, “They do not come more skilled than I, friend.”

Anders moved Zevran towards the door of his Clinic, keeping his voice low. “Meet me here tomorrow to discuss our plan,” he said, “I know you didn’t come here for this, Zevran, but---“

“If you plan on making a bold dash into the Gallows, with little chance of survival, I would be upset if you didn’t include me,” Zevran said. He smiled, that sweet smile that made everything seem so much brighter and warmer and saner, and pressed his lips to Anders’ cheek once again. “If you want him so badly, have him,” Zevran whispered, “Life is too short, yes?”

“I don’t know---“

“You do,” Zevran interrupted. It was another thing he enjoyed about the elf; no matter what he was saying or how easily he could dominate a conversation, he kept his tone friendly and encouraging. Even when Anders wanted to punch him in the jaw he remained fond of him. “I want to ask you something before you shove me out the door like an unwanted urchin: Do you see yourself being happy without him?”

It wasn’t a question of love, which was good – Anders didn’t feel equipped to answer such questions. No, it was a question of what he wanted, what he needed, what would make him happiest. For so long Anders had sacrificed his own happiness for the sake of mage freedom. 

But it was just another cage, another prison. Not of steel, but of his own flesh and bone.

“No,” Anders whispered. “But I can’t see myself being happy with him either.”

“Semantics,” Zevran chuckled. “You can either be miserable without him or be miserable with him and have fantastic sex.”

****  
Anders sat beside Ezio on the cot, not sure what to say, if he should even be there at all. They were going up against impossible odds, a makeshift team of six people against an entire army. If they failed, Anders wasn’t sure what would happen. But if they succeeded, he knew things would never be the same again. The Templars would crumble, the Circles all across Thedas would rise up; many people would die in a war they didn’t want, and for a cause they didn’t support. 

It seemed silly to think of it in such certain terms, as though what they would do would cripple the Templars so horribly. They were simply taking back what belonged to Ezio. Justice, though, seemed to think of Ezio’s mission as secondary, only the final straw that moved them forward. In the end, it was about freedom. Anders only wanted to help Ezio, to see him returned home to his Italia, home to his friend, home to where he knew the scent of the air and the sight of the sunset over the water. The yearning for home was difficult to explain; it wasn’t so much an ache in the chest as an emptiness.

He didn’t want Ezio to go, but he knew that he had to. That more than anything kept Anders from getting closer – kept him from letting Ezio inside of him, in every way that he could. 

“Mi dispiace,” Ezio said. “I didn’t mean to run your friend off.”

“You didn’t,” Anders said. 

He didn’t even want to think about broaching the subject of just where Ezio was from, how he had come to be there, why – if he wasn’t delusional or suffering from a case of amnesia – he had never seen magic cast, or an elf, or how he didn’t know the templars imprisoned mages.

Better not to think too long and hard about any of that. Better to just… sit with him, take some comfort in the time they had left.

Ezio’s hand rested on his thigh. Anders’ stomach tightened and heat moved from his chest to his groin. Just perfect – the man was making it nearly impossible to resist, to save himself more grief and heartache than he could stand. 

“I’ve had many lovers over the years,” Ezio said, “And many of them were hesitant to trust, to open themselves up to me.” He chuckled, squeezing Anders’ thigh with just enough pressure to make Anders groan. “Truth be told, I was always the one who was slow to trust, slow to open myself up, to let someone… Mierda, to let someone crawl inside of me and take root somewhere I could not remove them from.”

“And?” Anders asked. He wanted to sound casual, as though he wasn’t tied up into knots, as though his every thought wasn’t consumed by the man. Instead he sounded breathless, desperate for Ezio to touch him, to kiss him, to take him and have him for as long as he wished.

“I am too old for games,” Ezio said. “And too old not to be a little brave. When I was young I felt like I had all the time in the world. I took nothing seriously, I broke a fair amount of hearts, and had my own broken a few times. I grew up, amato.”

“What do you want from me?” Anders asked.

“I want you to be honest,” Ezio said. He took Anders’ chin in his fingers, tilting his face up. “To be honest with me and with yourself. If you want me, have me, Anders. Be foolish and brave, or let the templars win. Let them succeed in taking the fight out of you, of robbing you of the last bit of your freedom.”

The templars had stolen everything from him, everything that they could possibly get their hands on. But they hadn’t managed to crush his heart, as much as they wanted to, and they hadn’t taken every bit of his innocence, of his ability to let himself be helpless, let himself be placed in someone’s hands. 

Anders kissed Ezio, roughly, dragging his tongue over the scar on Ezio’s lip. Fingers crushed in blonde hair, and Ezio kissed him back with just as much passion. Things began to blur, to melt, to blend together. Anders moaned inside of Ezio’s mouth, and after that, there was really no going back, no stopping what they had started. Instead, Anders dove in with no hesitation, seating himself on Ezio’s lap and winding his arms around his shoulders.

Ezio stood from the cot with Anders in his arms. The mage laughed, holding on tighter and giving a purr against Ezio’s lips when the man pushed his back to the wall. He tightened his thighs over Ezio’s lips, leaning his head back to let Ezio get at his throat. He bit and sucked roughly, dipping a hand low to squeeze Anders’ ass through his robes. There were too many layers between them, too much fabric impeding the touch of their skin. 

“Need you,” Anders gasped, dirty nails dipping down against Ezio’s scalp. “Please.”

Yes, he needed Ezio. As much as he wanted him, as much as he loved him, he needed him even more.

“Maldito,” Ezio grunted, lips damp and breath hot on Anders’ throat. “I need to be inside you.”

Anders shivered. They grew worse when Ezio dragged his tongue across his throat, spit slick and hot over goosebumps. The shivers intensified, sinking deeper, spreading tendrils through his chest and belly and groin. Anders clutched Ezio, not sure where he grabbed, only sure that he needed to grab somewhere; everywhere.

Ezio settled Anders to the ground, pushing his robes from his shoulder, cursing under his breath when he was snagged by the belt around Anders’ waist. He was sweating, heavy at his temples and the hollow of his throat. Anders smirked and pressed his lips to the slick skin over Ezio’s collarbone, licking up his sweat and humming low in his chest.

“You are teasing me, amore,” Ezio grunted. He finally managed to get Anders free of his damnable robes and started to work on his trousers, pausing just long enough to run his thumb against the rise of his cock beneath the thick fabric. Anders huffed and grit his teeth and sank his nails deeper against Ezio’s scalp. 

Ezio gripped his face, forcing Anders to look at him. He said nothing, only stared into Anders’ eyes, his own dark and heavy lidded. Anders watched Ezio drag his tongue along his bottom lip. His throat trembled with a whine. Well, that was a little embarrassing; it was a damn good thing Anders was too turned on to care.

He moved lower, stopping to bite Anders’ collarbone, to trace his tongue over the freckles on Anders’ shoulders and chest, to suck his nipples and scrape his teeth over Anders’ ribs. 

Anders groaned in his chest, spreading his thighs apart as Ezio gripped his cock and squeezed around the base. His tongue circled Anders’ cockhead, his dark eyes staring up at the mage, leaving him no room to look away, to sever the intimacy. Ezio demanded he watch, he be aware of every little thing he did with his mouth and his hands. Anders sighed, sliding his fingers through Ezio’s hair, gentler than he had before. He whispered to him, words he could barely hear over the thundering of blood in his ears. 

He must have said something that needed an answer, because Ezio purred, “Si, mi amore,” before wrapping his mouth around Anders’ cock and taking him to the back of his throat. 

It had been… a while. Anders didn’t want to think about how long, he only knew that his skin was incredibly sensitive, and when Ezio’s tongue slicked over his glans his knees nearly gave out on him. “Ezio,” he breathed, “Ezio, ah---“

Ezio dragged his tongue up Anders’ cock, flicking against the head, probing softly at the slit. His eyes remained turned up, his thick brows low and knitted. He stroked Anders’ cock, teasing the tip with teeth and tongue, his free hand wandering lower to scratch and squeeze the inside of the mage’s thigh. 

“Please,” Anders begged. “Please, just… I need you.”

Any longer and he wouldn’t be able to keep himself standing. It had been too long, and Anders was in no mood to be teased. He needed more than Ezio’s tongue.

“Ragazzo impaziente,” Ezio chuckled. He gave a kiss to Anders’ cockhead, pre-come sticking to his lips and remaining as a thin thread between Anders’ flesh and his own. Ezio stood, pushing Anders closer to the wall, kissing him hard enough to send flashes of light through Anders’ head. Everything was dizzying. Anders could taste himself on Ezio’s tongue, and he couldn’t stop a moan from pushing into Ezio’s mouth.

Ezio turned him towards the wall, pressing his cheek against the cool stone. His hands slipped down Anders’ body, gliding over his back and hips and thighs. It was… soothing, comforting; and then Ezio’s fingers were inside of him, deep and twisting. Anders growled his name and bucked his hips, wanting more friction, wanting him deeper. Wanting more than his fingers.

“Maker,” Anders whispered. He bit his lips and spread his thighs wider. Apparently Ezio didn’t understand just how badly he needed him. That or the man was fond of teasing, of building up tension until Anders exploded or went insane. Either way, Anders had never been a patient man, especially when he was desperate for something. “Fuck me,” he growled.

Ezio laughed. Not a chuckle, but deep and booming. Anders could feel it against his back as Ezio pressed against him. He closed his eyes and listened to the rustle of fabric against skin as Ezio disrobed. Warm, hairy flesh was on Anders then, and he could feel the hard beating of Ezio’s heart. He had heard such things as too intimate before, and he had always scoffed. How could something possibly be too intimate?

But this was.

This was too close, too hot, too desperate, too needy. This was two men becoming of one flesh and one breath and Anders couldn’t help but moan and grip tight to the cold stone in front of him. When Ezio pushed inside, when his breath rushed hot and damp against Anders’ ear, it was more than too intimate; it was too much.

“Ti amo,” Ezio whispered. Anders didn’t know what he said, but he felt the weight of it all the same, bearing down on his shoulders, bearing down on his heart. 

There was nothing to do but hold on and let Ezio move over him like some warm shadow. Nothing to do but listen to the breath in his ear and the clapping of their flesh and feel the sweat run into his eyes. He found it difficult to breathe, difficult to do anything but moan and whimper and repeat Ezio’s name until he was hoarse and gasping.

Ezio left bruises on his pale skin, over his hips and ribs where he held fast. He left bite marks on Anders’ shoulders and hickeys on his throat. There were impressions of him everywhere along the mage’s body, testaments to whatever it was they had together. Testaments of their passion and their longing, and of a time that was too short. 

Everything sped up, became blurred and indistinct. Anders was aware only of the harsh slap of Ezio’s hips against his ass, and of Ezio’s breath rough and ragged on his skin. Ezio gripped his cock and stroked erratically, matching the slam of his hips. He tensed, groaned something in his sexy, confusing language, and came, hard. 

He collapsed against Anders’ back, still managing to keep his wrist working, to stroke Anders to his own finish. Sloppy work, but Anders wasn’t one to be picky. An orgasm was an orgasm, after all; it seemed like a bit of sage advice that Zevran or Isabela might give.

Now was the time for regrets, for awkwardness, for shifting eyes and stumbling speech and nervous laughter. Now was the time where the intimacy cooled, and they both returned to their senses and realized what a mistake they had made.

Ezio kissed a bruise on Anders’ shoulder-blade.

“Your knees are trembling,” Ezio murmured. “Clean up and come to bed, we’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Well, never mind then.

Apparently Ezio wasn’t at all aware things should be awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title:** The Price of Freedom  
>  **Word Count:** 5466  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Warnings:** Nudity, strong sexual content  
>  **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age (c) Bioware  & EA; Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft


	4. City of Emancipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezio's hand is forced when the templars capture Anders.

The marketplace was filled to bursting, though Ezio had grown accustomed to maneuvering through large crowds. A few people tried to steal his purse – a large sum of coin Anders had given him and that Ezio hadn’t asked how the mage had come by – but Ezio dealt with them handily. Non-lethal of course; the last thing Ezio needed was the templars swooping down on him for stabbing some cutpurse through the throat. 

He left them unconscious wherever they fell, paying no attention to the whispers of the people or the way their narrowed eyes followed him through the market. 

Ezio passed the Hanged Man, thought of going in, but walked past it. Isabela would be inside, most likely, and she would wish to talk and fritter the day away. Ezio couldn’t afford any distractions. He had been given clear instructions on what he needed to do and secure for their assault on the templars. Weapons and armor and a few herbal concoctions Anders had specifically requested. For what, Ezio didn’t know, and he thought it was better he didn’t ask.

As he wandered the marketplace, he noticed that the people who looked like Anders’ friend – Zevran, he thought his name was – were relegated to a dilapidated and rather shoddy part of town. They wore rags and would not look up even when Ezio attempted to make conversation with them. He wondered why they were forced into such squalor, but he knew the answer already. They were unwanted, undesirables, the lowest rung on the proverbial ladder. It twisted his stomach, but there was little he could do for them.

Perhaps uprooting the templars would ease their lot. It was the most Ezio could hope for.

Someone was following him.

They were quite skilled, but not skilled enough. Ezio led them through the winding alleyways, admiring how they wended with him, how their footsteps remained silent and they were only the barest of shadows at his periphery. If not for his own training, he would have been an easy target; but an assassin was nothing if he was not swifter and more cunning and far more adept than his enemies.

For ten minutes he led the person his heels through Lowtown, finally turning on them as he rounded a corner towards the Docks. He had the person against the wall with his knee pressing in on their groin before he saw it was Zevran.

“One of these days you and Anders will get yourselves killed attempting to sneak up on me,” Ezio sighed. He fell back, slipping his knee away from Zevran’s groin – the elf seemed to lament the loss of contact, but Ezio was through with trying to understand him. 

“You are very skilled,” Zevran said. “I knew you had spotted me the moment I began trailing you. That was quite fun, yes? A very enjoyable game between friends.”

“I am no friend of yours,” Ezio said. “What did you want?”

“I only wished to ask you where Anders has gone,” Zevran said. “He asked me to meet him but when I arrived he wasn’t there. I assumed he would be with you, or that you might know where I could find him.”

That made no sense. Anders had said he would remain in the Clinic for most of the day, preparing for their attack on the Gallows. He was not one to wander aimlessly or take flight from his responsibilities. There was a cold knot in Ezio’s stomach that he could not fight off or will away. 

Something had happened.

“They’ve gotten him,” Ezio said.

“They?”

“The templars,” Ezio snapped. “They’ve taken him. Now they hold the apple and my--- friend.”

“You’re certain?” Zevran asked. “Perhaps I just missed him, yes? He might have gone to fetch someone that needed healing. Or perhaps he was taking a cat nap in that cluttered mess he calls a Clinic.”

“You are an assassin, _si_?” Ezio asked.

“Yes,” Zevran said.

“Trained to be quick, and clever, and to see things that others believe you shouldn’t?”

“Yes,” Zevran repeated. 

“Was Anders in his Clinic?”

There was no hesitation, no dodging or denying, or wondering if he might have overlooked something. “No,” Zevran said.

“You do not believe he went somewhere else on his own, either,” Ezio said. “Do you?”

“No,” Zevran murmured, “No. He left his patients there, unattended. He would never do that.”

“We must move quickly, then,” Ezio said, “The templars will not keep me from him or the apple.”

“Apple… What is---“

“Come,” Ezio said. He stalked back through the market, only now with a purpose. He moved as a shadow, and the only one who saw him at all was Zevran, his eyes trained for the sleek and elegant movements of Ezio’s body. “This is the last precious thing they steal from me,” Ezio growled; to himself, apparently, because Zevran had fallen far behind him. 

****

He was somewhere dark and cold. There was a draft from somewhere behind him, like ice digging into his back. Anders tried to shift and found he was chained to the wall, the loud clang of chains against stone terribly loud in the small space. He was suddenly and terrifyingly aware of his own breathing, and aware of how small the room was where he was chained; he wondered how little oxygen there was and panicked, taking in deep, greedy lungfuls until he felt lightheaded. 

The walls were closing in tighter. He knew, in the part of his brain that still remained calm and lucid, that that wasn’t possible; yet in the other part of his mind he was an animal, frightened and small and left to survive on nothing but instinct. Anders twisted but it was too dark to see, he breathed in but there wasn’t enough room left in his lungs. The blackness became even darker as gray flecked the edge of his vision and he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. 

_Stop_.

It was not Justice – as Anders had explained several times there was no longer a distinction that could be made between himself and the Fade Spirit – but rather their voices merging. It was firm, but still gentle. Anders sagged against the wall in relief, heart jackhammering against his ribs. 

_Look around_.

There was nothing to see, only darkness. He couldn’t even see the end of his own nose, there was no hope in seeing anything else. He was suddenly angry. Angry enough to feel strong enough to rip his chains from the wall and march through the Gallows alone. Angry enough to believe he could crush the templars with his fists and his boot on their throats and nothing else. 

Anders could feel himself sliding back, slipping away from the precipice of his own self-control. He tried to steel himself, to fight the anger that raged through him like a wildfire, but he couldn’t. The templars had taken too much from him, they had robbed him of his freedom, of his entire life; they had robbed Ezio of something precious to him.

He knew he was bait, he was meant to lure Ezio to the Gallows, to spur him into a wild and hasty rescue attempt. They meant to cripple him with his care for Anders. How the templars knew they had grown close Anders didn’t know; what he _did_ know was that if Ezio entered the Gallows unprepared, he would die.

That was all he needed to know. 

****

There was no time to gather the others together and go over their plan. The longer Anders remained in the templars hands, the more likely it became that they would kill him. He knew the mage was bait, he knew he was walking into an ambush, he knew the odds of him escaping with both his lover and the Apple were slim to none. None of that mattered to him, though. The templars had stolen too much from him, they had dogged him every step of his way, every moment of his life, and he was tired of biding his time, of picking and choosing his battles.

If they wanted him, by God, they would have him. And they would know true fear the moment before he sliced out their throats.

“We cannot get into the Gallows with just the two of us,” Zevran said. “We will be slaughtered the moment we leave the tunnels.”

“They will try,” Ezio said. He stopped just long enough to check Anders’ map before moving on. “They have prepared for us, no doubt… But they do not know what kind of man I am, what I am capable of. They’ll find out soon enough.”

“Yes,” Zevran said, “It’s terribly sexy when you talk like that, my friend, but I’m afraid it means nothing. They’ll kill you. They’ll kill _Anders_.”

“They will _try_ ,” Ezio repeated.

****

“He’ll come,” Erin said. “He’ll have to. We took his precious artifact, and now his little mage whore. He’ll be desperate.”

“A desperate man is a dangerous man,” Meredith said. “But I’ll trust your judgment.”

Orsino had studied the artifact, and, like Erin, he had been unable to get a response from it, or to activate it in the way Erin had felt when she had been near Ezio. That was the key to it all, she guessed. Ezio was who they needed to unlock the secrets the artifact held. For some reason, despite having no magical abilities of his own, the relic needed him. 

So be it. 

It held mysteries that needed to be uncovered and understood. The templars had long since relied too heavily on simply imprisoning their mages, instead of understanding their artifacts and their nature. The artifact cradled in her palm could herald in a new age of templar and mage relations. Erin had no love for the beasts, but she _did_ have a love for knowledge and for power. When one was in her grasp, the other would follow. 

“When you have him, see to it the abomination is destroyed,” Meredith ordered. “That man has been a thorn in our side for too long. The whole of Thedas will be better when he is gone.”

“Yes, Knight-Commander,” Erin said. She had long since stopped listening to the woman, though she appeared attentive. She understood that Meredith was nothing more than a figurehead, able to make decisions when it came to individuals, but not quite ready to crush the whole of Thedas under her heel. It took a person of stronger steel than her to lead the Templars, and if Erin had her way, Meredith wouldn’t be around much longer.

She needed only to bide her time, to wait for the perfect moment…

And let the artifact lead her to a better place.

****

“You’ve lost your mind,” Zevran said. Still he tried to persuade Ezio to turn back, to think about what he was doing, and still Ezio ignored his wheedling. Turning back wasn’t an option. The templars meant to destroy _everything_ he held dear, everything that was _his_ to protect and safeguard, and he refused to allow it. He refused to sit back on his heels and wait for them to come to him, to find him, to leave more innocents destroyed in their bloody wake.

He was _tired_.

 

“You do not need to accompany me,” Ezio said. He stopped, checked the map again, and swore under his breath. “I cannot find my way in these damned tunnels,” Ezio snapped. “Stupid mage _cazzo_ and his useless maps.”

Zevran took the map and flipped it over, smirking at Ezio.

Ezio’s lips twitched, but he managed to keep from smiling. The last thing the elf needed to know was that he amused him. 

“Fine,” Ezio said, “Let’s keep moving.”

****

He walked with the chain at his wrist dragging across the floor. Every templar within earshot would descend on him, and sooner rather than later. It didn’t matter. Let them come. Let them try to keep him from freeing himself and every other mage locked within their hideous prison. Kirkwall had stood as the City of Chains for far too long. 

That night it would become the City of their Emancipation. 

Anders smirked. 

His eyes burned with blue fire. 

****

Finally, there was resistance. Ezio’s blood quickened, and adrenaline coursed through his veins and along his spine. He had been waiting for some kind of fight, something to channel his frustration and aggression, something to temper his fury. If he went into the thick of a fight in the state he was in, there was a good chance it would be his last. His head wasn’t clear, his thoughts were fuzzy and crowded. He needed focus. He needed a body on the end of his blade.

When his knife sank into the templars chest Ezio was flooded with control. 

“Your Order will fall,” he whispered to the man, “Requiescat in pace.”

“There will be more of them further on,” Zevran said, “They will be better prepared than these three. I’m all for rushing in headfirst, but perhaps you’d like to consider a plan?”

“We kill any who get in our way,” Ezio said. 

“Ah, simple,” Zevran muttered, “Perfect. I love simple.”

****

_No_. 

Erin stood over the bodies of her brethren, her boots tacky in their blood. The monster that had killed them was nowhere in sight, but of course she knew who had done it. The abomination, the demon who wore the flesh of a man. Anders had escaped. 

His cell had been left in utter ruin, the chain that had bound him ripped from the wall with inhuman force; the door burst open like some caged demon had sprung loose. The guards that had been placed outside of his cell had been brutally slaughtered; not with any magic Erin had ever seen before, either. What kind of mage was he that he could cause so much destruction with so little effort? All of her knowledge had told her the man didn’t practice blood magic, but what else could be so powerful?

She needed to get to the vault, seal herself in until she could make sense of what had happened and how to handle it. Perhaps she should go to Orsino, or Meredith, take them with her or at least warn them that Anders was rampaging through the Gallows. 

No… No, he wouldn’t make it past the sentries in the courtyard. There was no way.

Screams echoed down the hallway.

Erin shuddered and cradled the Apple close to her chest.

****

Zevran spotted the mage first, in the center of the courtyard caught in a circle of templars. The sentries on the balconies had him trained in their sights, their fingers flexed tightly over the triggers of their crossbows. For Ezio, everything seemed to move in slow motion, he watched as a templar lunged at Anders, her blade missing his midsection by less than an inch. He watched as Anders grabbed her by the hair and snapped her neck as effortlessly and emotionlessly as a man would snap a twig.

“Anders,” Ezio whispered. He swallowed, added strength to his voice, and shouted, “Anders!”

The mage looked at him, looked _through_ him, his eyes glowing cobalt. He was possessed, not human, that much Ezio could see. But he was still his lover, and Ezio would not see him die that night. 

Zevran gripped his shoulder tightly, drawing his attention away from the bloodbath in the center of the courtyard. A woman was edging her way behind the uproar. Ezio caught only the briefest look at her – shorn hair, dark skin, armor shining under the moonlight – before he was growling and charging after her. 

She held out the Apple as he approached, smiling rather triumphantly for a woman who was about to die. 

Her smile fell when Ezio was on top of her, his blade tight against her throat. 

“It should work,” she said, “Why isn’t it---“

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Ezio whispered. The last sight Erin had was of Ezio’s lips twisting into a bitter, horrible smile before everything was blackness. 

“Requiescat in pace,” Ezio spat.

It was the first kill in a long while that he had taken personal pleasure in, that he had lost control during. He did not enjoy taking pleasure in the dirty, bloody work he was bound by duty and honor to perform.

But he enjoyed the feel of her blood on his skin.

Ezio took the Apple from Erin, holding it against his palm. He felt its pulse, its life returning, and he looked to Zevran. “To me,” Ezio said, “If you want to live.”

“Yes, good,” Zevran said, “I do enjoy living very much.”

He watched Anders – or whatever had taken possession of his body – fall back from the Templars. A voice that boomed like thunder left his lips, cold and terrible. It reminded Ezio of the Apple, a weapon, a thing that held too much power, too much terrible destruction. “You will not harm another mage,” Anders said, “Not one more.”

“Anders,” Ezio said. The Apple was thrumming against his fingers like some kind of terrible heart. “Anders, stop this. Come here to me.” When the mage looked at him, Ezio was forced to stare into his blazing eyes, forced to look into the soul of the thing that wore his flesh. “Please,” Ezio said, “Please, _mi amore_. Come here to me.”

Blue fire dimmed from his eyes, and Anders staggered back, close enough for Ezio to snag him by the backs of his robes and pull him tight against his body. 

“It ends now,” Ezio said against Anders’ brow.

The Apple flashed in his hand, the pulse grew and grew until it was a shockwave radiating out across the courtyard. It shook the ground and boomed across the sky like thunder. 

The templars fell.

****

They should have discussed what had happened. What the Apple was, what secret Anders had kept from him about the Spirit he shared his body with, what it meant to strike a crushing blow against the templars; how it _felt._

Instead, they slept in a room at the Hanged Man, soundly and without dreams. Anders’ Clinic wasn’t safe and likely never would be again. They had damaged the templars, and perhaps irreparably, but that didn’t mean the mage wouldn’t be hunted for what they had done, and it didn’t mean he could ever truly be free. 

Isabela was angry that she had been left out of the fight. She said goodbye to Ezio the only way she could; punching him in the jaw and kissing him firmly and hotly. 

“Thank you,” Ezio said.

He was still as hopeless and inept when it came to the pirate as he had been before.

They found themselves on the Coast, the wind sharp and cold on their faces, the sea air heavy with salt and rain. Anders stopped by a bundle of elfroot, looking first at the bristled plant, running his fingers along its leaves, and looking out over the ocean. 

“We found you here,” Anders said. “I didn’t want to get involved, to waste the energy in trying to save a man so close to death, but Isabela found you handsome enough to rescue.”

“I’m in her debt,” Ezio chuckled.

“Seems like a lifetime ago,” Anders whispered.

“It does,” Ezio agreed. “I’m not sure if I ever thanked you properly, Anders, for all you did for me.”

Anders smiled, sadly, letting the wind slice across his face, lifting his hair from his brow. Ezio stepped nearer to him and slid his arm around Anders’ waist, pressing his lips against the hollow of his throat. “ _Grazie_ ,” he whispered, “ _Grazie mille, amato_.”

His lips settled against Ezio’s brow. 

“What will you do now?”

It was the question Ezio had been dreading. He didn’t have an answer for the man, or for himself. He honestly didn’t know what he would do, what he _could_ do. Somewhere his own land remained, and he had to find a way to return there. He had to go home, if not for his duty and obligation, then for his family. Still, the place he found himself in was… intriguing. 

No, that wasn’t the truth.

The man in his arms was intriguing, was what tethered Ezio to the land under his boots. There was no reason to stay other than him, no reason to even look back over his shoulder as he journeyed towards the mountains and whatever rested behind them. 

“I do not know,” Ezio murmured. “I haven’t… thought much about it.”

Another lie, but one he was comfortable telling. He had thought of little else, but Anders didn’t need to know how troubled he had been. The man had enough problems without shouldering Ezio’s.

“I should tell you about my… situation,” Anders said. He pulled back from Ezio and stepped nearer to the cliffside, looking down at the water as it crashed against the rocks. “There was… a Spirit of Justice that I met in Amaranthine. We---“

Ezio moved to him and rested his hand on Anders’ shoulder. “I do not need to know,” he said.

“But I---“

He pressed himself against Anders’ back, touching his lips to the side of his throat. “Shh,” Ezio quieted, “I’m sure whatever you told me would only make me more confused.”

Anders laughed. It sounded lovely, warm and genuine. Ezio hugged his waist tighter, smiling against his throat. 

“You have to go back,” Anders said. “You don’t belong here, Ezio.”

“I would say I belong here as much as you do, _amore_.”

“You’re quite possibly the most infuriating man I’ve ever met,” Anders sighed.

“I love you too,” Ezio said.

They were silent for some time, both of them enjoying the wind on their faces and the thunder booming in the distance and the black clouds rolling closer over the ocean. It seemed a shame to leave so much behind, to not even take anything with him when he went. Ezio wasn’t even sure how to return home, though he felt confident it was connected to the Apple in some way; it didn’t matter, he had become too tangled up in Anders, too ensnared by his pretty eyes and his dirty knuckles and his freckled shoulders. 

He had given his word, taken an oath, to protect the people of his home, to give his life if need be in service to the Brotherhood. His heart was torn, clinging desperately to Anders and the world he belonged to, while yearning for the warm shores of Italia, for his sister’s laughter and his brother’s and the only home he had ever known. 

“You haven’t made up your mind,” Anders said. “You want to stay as much as you want to go.”

“ _Si_ ,” Ezio agreed. There was no hesitation, no dancing around the truth. He was far too tired for such things, and – as he had said what seemed a lifetime ago – too old for games. “I’ve told you I love you, and I do not say those words lightly. Too often I’ve loved and given up too easily, or I’ve loved and been too prideful to speak of it. It isn’t something I want to let slip through my fingers again.”

“Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re the sweetest man I’ve ever met or the dumbest,” Anders said. He was smiling; Ezio could hear it in his voice. “You’ve got a choice to make, Ezio. I want you to know that… whatever it is, whatever you choose… You’ve been… The most important person in my life, and I---“

“ _Caro Dio_ ,” Ezio chuckled, “There is an easier way to say what you want to say, _che culo_.”

Anders leaned his head back against Ezio’s shoulders. The black clouds were over them now, and the rain started to fall. At first nothing but a drizzle, and then a downpour, forcing them to fall back from the cliffside and take meager shelter under a large rock jutting from the cliffs. 

Ezio smiled and closed his eyes when Anders cupped his cheek and leaned in close to him. His fingers found his pauldrons and tangled there, feathers soft under his touch. Anders’ nose brushed over his cheekbone and down to tuck under his jaw. His mouth was close, tantalizingly close, so close Ezio could feel his breath on his lips.

“I love you,” Anders whispered. 

Nothing else mattered. Whether home remained a place over the mountains or could only be reached through the Apple ceased to be important. Sheltered from the rain with Anders’ lips near his own and Anders’ breath against him, home was there. Ezio supposed that was all that had ever mattered. Past the selfless sacrifice and the Brotherhood and the good of all Creation and the confusing and terrifying idea that he was some central figure of change in the world while still being only a minor player – there was the rain against their skin and their lips and tongue together and his fingers caught in soft feathers. 

“Tell me what you want,” Anders murmured. 

All that he had ever wanted was to be free; to live a life where he could be happy and safe and away from blood and death and ignoble men with ignoble intentions. 

All that he had ever wanted was to find someone who made his heart race and his mouth dry and his palms wet. Someone who had sacrificed too much and knew the layers of his heart as surely as they knew their own. 

Ezio smiled and rested his fingers against the nape of Anders’ neck. The rain continued to pour and the sky flashed with lightning and rattled with thunder; but they were safe together. He had no answer to what he would do or where he would go; but to what he wanted, yes, he had the answer.

“You,” Ezio whispered. Beyond that, he could say nothing else. Anders was against his mouth and inside of it, and Ezio was clinging to him against the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title:** The Price of Freedom  
>  **Word Count:** 4346  
>  **Warning:** Violence, adult situations  
>  **Rating:** M  
>  **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age (c) Bioware  & EA; Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft

**Author's Note:**

>  **Title:** The Price of Freedom  
>  **Word Count:** 4703  
>  **Fandom(s):** Dragon Age/Assassin's Creed  
>  **Pairing:** Anders/Ezio  
>  **Rating:** Mature  
>  **Warning(s):** Adult language, violence, abuse  
>  **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age (c) Bioware  & EA; Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> Commission for limespices on tumblr.


End file.
